


A Date with Fen'Harel

by enigmalea



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Boys Kissing, Dancing, Discord: Solasmancers, French Kissing, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 02:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21189701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmalea/pseuds/enigmalea
Summary: Solas was drug to the Skyhold University Halloween Mixer where he is absolutely miserable.Written for the Solasmancers Discord Server's Spooky Month Event."I take it from your reaction you don't approve of my costume?"  Mahanon asked quirking an eyebrow. Solas cleared his throat and finally managed to glance away, his blush going darker."I do," Dorian practically purred."Me too," Bull agreed. "Who… what… are you dressed as?""A historically accurate depiction of Fen'Harel," Mahanon replied. Solas couldn't help it, he scoffed. Mahanon shifted slightly on his feet, a handsome smirk spreading across his face. "And what are you dressed as then?" he asked, now ignoring Bull and Dorian."Your girlfriend's realization you'll never be able to please her sexually," Solas snarked without thinking. He was colored scarlet now, heat filling his face from neck to ear tips. He couldn't blame that on the alcohol. It was too obvious.Mahanon laughed. "I don't have a girlfriend," he replied, "or a boyfriend, but I assure you if I did, pleasing them sexually wouldn't be an issue."





	A Date with Fen'Harel

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary says, this fic was written for the Solasmancers Discord Server's Spooky Month event. Because there are underage members, I tried to keep it as low rated as possible. I had intended to write the smut before I posted it, but I really need to get back to my long fics so it might take a bit. Let me know in the comments if you'd like to see the smut.
> 
> * * *
> 
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The driving rhythm of the music pounded into Solas' brain; obnoxious songs about witches and werewolves and vampires and demons and darkspawn all blended together seamlessly. He hated the parties, the mixers, and the social events, but in all of his years as a tenured professor at Skyhold University, he'd never figured out exactly how to avoid all of them. When given a choice, he'd rather attend a chamber music concert or a play or a lecture given by a colleague in order to fulfill his social quota; unfortunately, he hadn't been given a choice. Between the timing of an unfortunate loss of a bet with Varric and the announcement of the Halloween mixer, he'd been _doomed_.

"Another punch, please," he begged of the bartender, flashing him the wristband he'd been given to show that, yes, he _was_ of legal drinking age, as if there could be any doubt. The punch was _terrible_, sickly sweet and not quite spiked enough to make it worth it, but if he could get to the right level of buzzed but not drunk, it might just help him make it through the horrid night.

"Wooooooooow, Professor Solas." The voice came from beside him, vapid and annoying and he winced at the sound of it, "you're like… the last person I expected to see here."

Solas sighed and glanced to his left, taking in the sight of a student dressed (though he used that term loosely) in what amounted to a speedo, a black cape, and a pair of plastic "vampire" fangs. _11 am Tuesday and Thursday. Intro to the Fade and the Veil. Dull. Unoriginal. Rarely attends. Will flunk out before the end of the fall semester._

"I'm a sexy vampire. What are you?" he intoned. Solas couldn't be sure, but he suspected the kid was blitzed out of his mind on elfroot.

"The death of your parents' hopes and dreams for you," Solas quipped as he accepted the cup of punch from the bartender.

He was met with a blank expression from the student. "Siiiick burn," the boy with him commented as Solas pushed his way past them.

"Was that really necessary?" Varric asked as he approached. Apparently, he'd been loud enough, even over the music, that he'd been overheard.

"Yes, Solas, don't you think that was a bit harsh?" Cassandra added. He had secondhand embarrassment for them because of their costumes; as if it wasn't bad enough that Cassandra _insisted_ they attend the Halloween party in a couples costume every year, this year, she'd begged Varric to let them dress as the main characters from his romance series. That meant the dwarf was running around shirtless, with all of his chest _fur_ exposed, while Cassandra wore utterly impractical armor.

He shrugged and took a sip of the punch, the unidentifiable flavor making him wince. "He won't remember it in the morning," Solas answered, reclaiming his spot in the corner, hidden in the shadows. He'd been camped out here for an hour already acting as the stake for their claimed area of influence, as members of their group fluttered in and out, sometimes going to dance or to talk with students or other professors they actually liked. Sera, one of the technology department's graduate teaching assistants had only fluttered by twice to say hello, whereas Varric had spent more time with him, attempting (and failing) to get him to _mingle_.

"The party has finally arrived!" Dorian declared as he shoved his way through the crowd to join them. Solas glanced up, eyes going wide at the sight of Dorian dressed in traditional Tevinter robes; the white silk trimmed in gold complimented his dark skin, and the wide purple belt cinched across his midsection accented his waist. Attached to the purple belt, there was a purple rope that was wrapped firmly around the waist of his boyfriend, the Iron Bull. Bull was predictably topless (was this holiday only an excuse for everyone to get half-naked and drunk?) and there were two fresh bruises on his neck.

"What… what are…" Cassandra barely got the words out before Bull interrupted.

"I have bruises on my neck. He's a _neck romancer_, and I'm his thrall. Get it?" The groans and disgusted noises filled the air, punctuated by Varric's deep laugh. Solas could only shake his head in response and sip his punch. "I'm gonna get us drinks," Iron Bull added. "Anyone else want anything?"

They all declined Bull's offer and the man disconnected the rope from his belt and gave Dorian a gentle kiss on the cheek before making his way to the bartender. "That seems to be going well," Cassandra commented idly.

Dorian shrugged and glanced toward where Bull was leaning on the bar, clearly making a pass at the bartender. "He flirts with everyone," Dorian answered, "and he is obsessed with stupid puns and he's _always_ hot." Solas hummed critically into his punch cup as he took a drink, and Dorian swiveled to glare at him. "Do you have something to say, Solas?"

Solas lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "It appears as if you genuinely like him."

Dorian's expression softened for half a second before he looked away. "He's tolerable," he admitted, which coming from Dorian was high praise. He raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Solas, his eye sweeping over the man's outfit: khakis, a t-shirt, and a well-worn forest green cardigan which he'd recently had to patch the elbows of with brown suede. "What _exactly_ are you dressed as" Dorian demanded, "other than your usual sad hermit?"

"The crushing weight of reality after college graduation," Solas replied, earning him a snort from Varric. He was starting to become irritated with everyone asking he was dressed as. He didn't even want to be here, mingling, much less be here half-naked or dressed in some trite and cliché costume.

"Must you always be so dour?" Cassandra asked. "We are at a party. There is food and drink, and there are no nobles in sight. What could possibly be so terrible about being here?"

"Solas hates people," Dorian replied for him, "whereas you simply hate nobles."

"Not strictly true," Solas countered. He took a sip of his punch as Bull rejoined them, handing over whatever mixed drinks he'd gotten for himself and Dorian. Bull diligently reattached the rope to his belt, intent on carrying out his pun for the night. "I don't dislike everyone; simply most people. I can tolerate you lot."

Varric laughed, clapping Solas on his back. "Chuckles, you do more than tolerate us; you actually like us." Solas didn't bother to argue, because it was true, though he didn't like to admit it.

"Do none of you dance?" Bull asked, his deep voice rumbling over the music.

"No," Solas and Cassandra replied in unison.

Varric crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "I've been trying to get Seeker to dance with me for years," Varric replied, "and Solas dances, but not at school functions and only ballroom."

"Ballroom?" Dorian asked incredulously.

Solas shifted under the sudden scrutiny. "I wasn't always a mild-mannered professor. We were all young once."

"Ballroom isn't exactly a young man's activity, Chuckles," Varric challenged.

_It was when I learned it_, Solas thought, hiding a smirk in his punch cup.

"Dorian?" Bull asked, holding out his arm. "Care to dance?"

"If we must," Dorian huffed, though his lips curled up into a smile. The couple turned toward the dance floor, Bull offering Dorian his arm, but stopped abruptly.

Bull blinked slowly a soft whistle escaping him. "Damn. Who is that?"

Dorian stood on his tiptoes to see what Iron Bull - with his superior height - could easily see over the dancing crowd. He inhaled sharply. "Maker's mercy. I believe that's Solas' new adjunct professor. What's his name? Manny? Mannon?"

"Mahanon?" Solas asked turning toward where the two men gazed. He tried to ignore the flush that appeared on his face (that was just the punch, right?) and the way his heart rate picked up at the mere mention of his newly hired colleague.

Mahanon Lavellan was young but highly accomplished for his age. He had been Clan Lavellan's First (or perhaps he still was, Solas had never asked) when he'd begun to take his ceremonial position as a seeker of past secrets seriously. Without any formal training, he'd managed to unearth primary sources concerning Elvhenan, Ancient Elvhen magic, and the Fade. It was no shock to anyone when he'd been given a full scholarship to Orlais University where he was immediately offered a teaching position upon graduation. His career (though nowhere near as long as Solas') was certainly impressive and his continued breakthroughs triggered some mild professional jealousy.

When Solas had hired him, he hadn't been sure if he'd get along with the young man (he was Dalish, after all), but after a bumpy start they'd learn precisely where they were allowed to go and what lines could not be crossed even in the name of passionate, spirited debate. He'd had the impression Mahanon was studious and quite serious, although far more outgoing and spirited than Solas himself.

Therefore, as Mahanon came into view, Solas couldn't quite believe his eyes. Mahanon cut through the dancers on the floor easily, as they seemed to part for him. He was carrying a _staff_, with the blade removed, carved from ironbark with an impressively sized green-crystal globe focus set on top. Solas could sense the magic emanating from it, even this far away. Beyond that, he was nearly naked, dressed only in a loincloth and the bare minimum foot wraps which he could wear without violating health codes.

His deep golden skin shone in the minimal light, oil glistening on its surface; his light green vallaslin - Mythal's - stood out against his skin, seeming to glow. It danced across his face, down his neck, and wove over his body, branches twisting and intertwining with his tattoos and body paint in an intricate pattern.

His long black hair now had an undercut around his crown, and what was left had been placed into tiny delicate dreadlocks. They were gathered into a ponytail at the top of his head. Worked into his dreads against his forehead laid the skull of a small mammal, and against his chest laid the jawbone of a wolf. His ears had multiple piercings - gold rings and chains and studs - and, as Solas' eyes swept Mahanon's body, he realized with a start, so did his right nipple.

Solas' mouth ran dry.

Mahanon stopped across the table from him but the world shrunk down to the two of them. He was vaguely aware of the others greeting Mahanon, and Mahanon responding in kind, but what was actually said, he had no idea. Then Mahanon turned his Fade-colored eyes to Solas, and Solas couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He nearly sobbed aloud as it registered that Mahanon's deep voice greeted him softly, "Solas, good to see you."

He forced himself to drink more punch, to try to act casual even though his hand shook. "Mahanon," he acknowledged, conscious of the fact his voice was deeper than usual.

"I take it from your reaction you don't approve of my costume?" Mahanon asked quirking an eyebrow. Solas cleared his throat and finally managed to glance away, his blush going darker.

"I do," Dorian practically purred.

"Me too," Bull agreed. "Who… what… are you dressed as?"

"A historically accurate depiction of Fen'Harel," Mahanon replied. Solas couldn't help it, he scoffed. Mahanon shifted slightly on his feet, a handsome smirk spreading across his face. "And what are you dressed as then?" he asked, now ignoring Bull and Dorian.

"Your girlfriend's realization you'll never be able to please her sexually," Solas snarked without thinking. He was colored scarlet now, heat filling his face from neck to ear tips. He couldn't blame that on the alcohol. It was too obvious.

Mahanon laughed. "I don't have a girlfriend," he replied, "or a boyfriend, but I assure you if I did, pleasing them sexually wouldn't be an issue."

Bull's laugh practically echoed, even with the pounding music filling the stone room. "I like him," he declared. Solas could feel the Qunari's eyes moving from Mahanon to Solas, and he tried to keep his face impassive as the Qunari likely saw too much. "Come on, Dorian; we were going to dance." The couple disappeared into the throng, and Solas exhaled softly.

He could still feel Mahanon's eyes on him, too intense, green glimmering mischievously even in the eerie half-light that had been cast for the party. "Do you want to dance, Solas?" he asked.

Solas cleared his throat, glancing over at Mahanon and pointedly looking away. He wanted to sit down to make it clear he wasn't interested, but that would put him nearly at _loincloth_ level. He took a deep breath. "I… don't think that would be appropriate."

"It's a dance, Solas, not a blow job," Mahanon retorted.

The blush had just started to fade, but now it was back again as Varric laughed his approval and Cassandra made a disgusted noise. Mahanon watched him closely, moving to lean the staff he was carrying against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. It was as if the man knew Solas was going to give in, even though he hadn't made the decision yet.

"Come on, Chuckles, what's the worst that can happen? You actually have a good time?" Varric taunted.

He placed his cup on the table, sighing inwardly. What was the worst that could happen? He was slightly buzzed. He could let something slip about who he really was. Perhaps he would say something… improper. He was, after all, _technically_ Mahanon's boss. The President of the university was in attendance; what would she think if she were to see him dancing with his mostly naked colleague? It could lead to disciplinary action. Perhaps he would even get fired.

But as he licked his lips and looked up at Mahanon, he felt as if he were falling into his bright green eyes and he could not stop himself from saying, "just one dance."

Mahanon smiled brightly, ushering Solas out to the dance floor as Solas pointedly tried to ignore Varric's sputter of disbelief. He led him to the middle of the dance floor, and Solas inwardly cringed. He'd have preferred to remain at the edge, where it was less likely someone would _see_ them. The song was fast-paced, the driving rhythm still pounding its way into his head, but he didn't know what to _do_. In some ways it would be preferable if the dance was slow, so Solas could pull Mahanon close and hide his awkwardness and his uncertainty about what to do with his arms easier; in other ways, that would be a wholly undesirable turn of events.

He glanced around at the people around him, lovers dancing far too close for comfort undulating in what very nearly approximated clothed sex, friends laughing and flailing about without a concern, and his eyes landed on Mahanon who's wide grin had never left his face. He leaned close to Solas and whispered softly in his ear, "just move."

Mahanon's exhale was warm against his skin, and Solas jumped in surprise at the sensation. "I… I don't know…" he protested but he found himself shifting on his feet in time with the rhythm. It wasn't carefree. It wasn't even particularly graceful, but it was _something, _right? The song faded slowly, ending the long string of fast-paced songs and as the next song began to pick up with swelling, haunting tones the DJ's voice echoed around them, "we're going to take it down a bit for those of you who want to get up close and personal."

Solas stopped but didn't leave the dance floor, though the refrain of _leave, leave, leave,_ was playing in his head. Mahanon raised an eyebrow and took a step closer. "Oh no. We… we danced-"

"That wasn't a full dance," Mahanon challenged, reaching for Solas' hand as he _finally_ tried to move. He pulled Solas back to him, his arm going around Solas, as he pressed his body close. Solas stiffened in his arms, the blush finding its way back to his face. "This… isn't a problem is it?"

Solas shook his head no, not trusting himself to answer aloud. He was shocked to find, now that they were this close, that Mahanon was taller than he was by just an inch or so. The other elf was slimmer, though not by much, and as he settled his hand on the small of Mahanon's back he realized the other elf was nearly made of long, lean muscle. He cleared his throat. "That costume is hardly appropriate for a workplace function," he commented.

Mahanon chuckled. "True," he agreed and Solas raised an eyebrow, "but I chose it for a specific reason."

"And what is that?" Solas asked.

"Do you remember the first time I brought up Fen'Harel?" Mahanon asked as they rocked slowly. Solas felt Mahanon pull him closer, though it was subtle, his body pressing more firmly, the gentle slide of their legs starting to drive Solas wild.

"I can't say that I do," Solas lied. He did. They were in his office; Mahanon had been talking about the ancient statues in the Dales and musing about their origins, about who could have possibly built them.

"When I said I didn't believe Fen'Harel had always been a betrayer and a trickster, your eyes lit up, and you smiled. It was subtle, just a tiny upturn of your lips, but then you proceeded to argue with me - no matter what evidence I presented: the prevalence of statues dedicated him, the frescos we've found which seem to paint him as a hero, the texts - though there are very few - which suggest Shartan took inspiration from him." As Mahanon spoke, he leaned closer to Solas, until his head was nearly resting on his shoulder.

Solas almost whimpered then; being so close to Mahanon was having an unexpected effect. It had been so very long since he'd been held, so very long since anyone had been interested enough in him to get this close, so long since anyone had cared. "I vaguely remember, yes."

He could sense Mahanon's smile, rather than see it, a subtle shift in the way his breath danced across Solas' skin. "I enjoyed the conversation. It lasted for hours, and it detoured into how I imagined him to be; this trickster rebellion who defied both sides of a pantheon. You laughed - actually laughed - and said that if Fen'Harel were real he'd probably like my version of him."

"And that somehow led to this ludicrous costume?" Solas asked.

"I wanted you to see the wild rebel as I saw him in my head, which, by the way, is based on very accurate historical sources," Mahanon replied.

It took all he had not to snort. The hair and gold and bone adornments were accurate; the vallaslin was close, but neither tattoos, body paint, a nipple piercing, nor a loincloth had ever come close to his body. "And what sources are those?"

"There are paintings in temples-"

"You'll have to show them to me some time because I simply refuse to believe it," Solas challenged.

"It's a date," Mahanon whispered. Solas stiffened in his arms, blushing again. "So, you _don't_ like the costume then?"

"I wouldn't say that," Solas whispered. The refrain of the song seemed to be closing; they were going to lose their excuse to stay close like this, and Solas' heart rate picked up. He should end this, should take the song ending as a good excuse to walk away, to not start anything which he would regret. Even this, now, with the President in attendance, was risky. But to hope for more? "Earlier… what I said about my costume?" he questioned.

"Yes?"

"I think I was wrong. I think I'm dressed as a man who would very much like to kiss you."

He hadn't meant to say it. It was one thing to think it, another entirely to say aloud the wild and rebellious thoughts thrumming through his head. Part of him wondered what this meant about him, that the first person he should be attracted to in countless years was dressed like some bizarre idealized version of himself. Perhaps it was being so close to that idealized version that inspired him to listen to the defiant thoughts running through his mind.

He expected Mahanon to shy away, to perhaps suggest they go somewhere else, to remind Solas they were at a school function, or maybe to be outraged his boss had just hit on him. He did not expect Mahanon to stop moving, their slow rocking dance coming to an abrupt halt as the other man let go of his hand, and his freed hand moved to Solas' cheek.

His lips pressed against Solas' tenderly and the world shrunk down to only them. He inhaled sharply, and his hand moved to the back of Mahanon's head to pull him closer. The kiss shifted from something tender to something hot and desperate, then, made of teeth and tongues warring for dominance.

They were both panting heavily as they broke apart; Solas' heart pounded in his chest, suddenly in time with the fast-paced music which must have replaced the slow song just moments before. Mahanon's lips turned up into a wicked smile, "your place or mine?"

"Yes," Solas breathed. Mahanon's smile became wider. "Mine. Yours. Either. Which is closer?"

"Your office," Mahanon answered. Oh. He couldn't. Not at work. Not on his sofa. He _napped_ on that sofa. He'd have to look at that sofa every day.

"Okay," he agreed before he allowed himself to say no.

"You first. I'll see you in 10," Mahanon replied. He gave Solas another (much more chaste) kiss before sauntering away slowly. Solas hesitated for only a mere second, wondering if he should bother saying good-bye to Varric and the others. With a shake of his head, he left the dance floor; he had a date with Fen'Harel.


End file.
